simone was waiting on the landing, and as her mistress crept into the room she noiselessly barred the door. marion sank on the bed, breathing unevenly, her face showing the strain she had undergone. simone held a glass of water to her lips. she drank eagerly, then buried her face in the coverlet.

along the passage without went the heavy steps of the courier. simone was seized with a sudden horror as she realised how near success had run to failure. success? she looked at the bowed head. gently she took up the trembling hands.

''tis he,' came the broken whisper. 'he is in exeter gaol—condemned. 'twas to jeffreys, yonder letter, saying that the prisoner, roger trevannion—' marion's whisper became almost inaudible—'had been found guilty of lending aid and sustenance to the king's enemies and should rightly be hanged. but i can't remember the exact words—the governor said that seeing the prisoner was a man of note ... he wondered if—if—' marion's words stumbled, and simone bent low. 'if,' finished the girl with a sudden burst of bitter, contemptuous anger, 'my lord jeffreys' well-known clemency would not dictate another—another sentence. i can't remember the rest. already i would that i could forget what i have remembered.'

the flame died away as marion's voice sank into silence. the russet gold head drooped forward. for several minutes neither moved.

after a time simone knelt down and gently examined her mistress's feet. the stockings were cut here and there, but the skin was unbroken. presently she coaxed marion to allow herself to be undressed. marion got up and sat down mechanically as the deft hands did their work, and finally crept into the sweet, lavender-scented bed.

'try to sleep, mademoiselle,' said simone, bending over the pillow to stroke the waving hair from the forehead. 'you will need all your strength.'

'ay,' said marion dully, 'all my strength and yours, and all my wits and yours. i have not time to sleep. i must think. there is one thing for which we cannot be sufficiently thankful: we are nearing exeter. to-morrow night, with speed, should see us there, at the end of the journey, but,' she continued in a voice that matched her haggard face, 'at the beginning of a worse thing—a race with time. get you to bed, simone, and to-morrow——'

'hist!' whispered the other, as a heavy stockinged tread sounded in the passage and the boards creaked outside the door, 'yonder comes our bodyguard. we had best be silent.'

soon the steady snores came to their ears. the innkeeper moved about in a further room; then silence fell on the house.

presently, marion sat up in bed, her arms round her knees. simone still crouched by her side.

'have i ever said aught of my aunt keziah?' she whispered.

'no, mademoiselle.'

'she lives in exeter.'

simone's face lighted up. her hands clasped each other. 'oh, mademoiselle, what amazing good fortune!'

'why? i had rather lodged at the new inn. being in my aunt's house i shall be obliged to tell her everything. but i dare not go to the inn; she would find out, it being almost next door to my aunt's house. it all depends whether she will be friend or foe.'

'is madame your aunt at all like lady fairfax?'

'in looks, yes.'

'a second lady fairfax had been an ally, mademoiselle. but—but—madame your aunt may have influential friends.'

a ghost of a smile flickered over marion's face.

'or enemies. she makes rare enemies, my aunt keziah. i have only been to the house once, when i was eight. 'twas the first coach ride i had ever had. then my aunt quarrelled with my father about my upbringing, and i never saw her again until this year when she came to garth. i remember the house, in the high street, near the east gate.'

a question burned on simone's lips. presently marion unconsciously answered it. 'i do not in the least know where—where the gaol is.'

for close on an hour the two whispered together, marion finding a temporary relief in going over and over again the possibilities of the situation. presently she fell silent, her face showing haggard in the candle-light.

'there's one thing,' she said at the last. 'now something has got to be done. only one more day in that hateful coach, sitting idle. i have thought and thought and thought; for four days i have sat thinking. there will be to-morrow for thinking again. then——'

presently, marion lay quiet and simone put out the candle and turned to her own little pallet bed. the moon swung clear above the sloping land, the silver beams creeping through the cracks of the shuttered window. out in the lane rose suddenly the full-throated song of the nightingale, answering another across the valley. with a stifled moan marion buried her face in the pillow.

simone, undressing in the darkness, shed bitter tears, and for a long time she crouched by her chair, summoning remembrance of those two, one near and one distant, to a presence where remembrance would be availing. the june night went up in beauty; the world lay bathed in an exceeding peace. but marion tossed to and fro in the darkness, counting the minutes of each endless hour.

just about sunset the following evening the coach wound down the valley and entered exeter by the east gate. zacchary's reluctance to speed up the horses had been overborne, not so much by marion's words as her looks. it dawned on the old man that his beloved mistress must be ailing. tony the watchful confirmed his suspicions. if the mistress had an aunt in exeter, said the londoner, 'twas nothing short of a providence they should be so near to the town, for to his way of thinking the young lady was sickening for a fever. zacchary said no more.

mistress keziah was sitting down to supper in the low, lattice-windowed room that looked out on the courtyard. beyond the flagged stretch rose high, creeper-covered walls, in which the great oaken entrance doors were set. the house was a rambling, gabled building, with a garden at the rear, which was only kept in order because of mistress keziah's sense of duty to her forbears. rarely she walked therein; only part of the large house was inhabited, mistress keziah loving to spend the greater part of her income on her visits to bath, where she lived some months of each year in state and splendour.

the sound of horses and wheels, and the clang of the courtyard bell, roused in her a lively curiosity. quickly she thought of the few folk in the neighbourhood who might pay her an evening visit in a coach drawn by at least four horses. when the footman opened the courtyard door and a tall young lady walked in, wearing a travelling cloak and hood which bore the unmistakable mark of a london tailor, mistress keziah was filled with amazement.

a minute later the footman entered the room and stood aside to allow the visitor to pass.

'mistress marion penrock.'

'marion! my child!'

the lady stepped forward with open arms. any doubt marion had as to her welcome was swept away in a close embrace.

'i can scarce believe my eyes,' said mistress keziah, holding her guest at arm's length for a survey.

'but you have grown, i declare! you look mighty different.'

the stern look marion had remembered disappeared from the angular features. the old lady was secretly overjoyed that marion had elected of her own free will to make a visit to her house. 'but why such a pale, worn face? how far have you come? are you alone? take the saddle of mutton back, thomas, and keep it hot while my niece prepares for supper. tell mercian to see to the guest chamber. how many servants have you, my dear?'

'three men and my waiting woman, simone. i should like you to speak to simone, aunt keziah,' said marion dropping her voice. 'she is more companion than servant. where are you, simone?'

simone stepped forward from the hall. her faultless slow curtsey, the grave dignity with which she responded to the lady's greetings, pleased mistress keziah mightily. just such a servant would she have chosen herself.

the two girls followed their hostess up the oaken stair, across the gallery and into her own room, where simone hastily prepared her mistress for supper. the old lady would not allow a change of dress. she had already remarked on marion's pallor. when she heard how far they had driven since daybreak, and the speed with which the party had come from london, she decided that food and rest were more necessary than fair raiment.

'd'ailleurs,' was simone's inward comment, 'she wants to know all about it. but she has a store of kindness somewhere under a crust of something. how beautiful she must have been in her youth!'

marion never quite knew how that seemingly interminable meal passed. in the presence of the servants she talked of london and her aunt, the queen's illness and visit to the wells, trying meanwhile to eat a little of the food piled on her plate. but her aunt's shrewd eye was on her, 'why has she come?' her unspoken question. she knew at once that the girl was under the spell of some unhappiness. when the servants withdrew, mistress keziah looked inquiringly at the pale face across the table, where the candlelight picked out the shadows under the eyes and the gold of the hair.

marion responded to the look. 'forgive me, aunt keziah, i can't talk to-night. my head aches so. will you bear with my silence till to-morrow?'

'how she has changed!' mused the lady as she strove to soften the habitual rigour of her speech—about which she was quite conscious and in fact complacent—and set the girl at her ease. 'no longer a child. what is it? has some gallant yonder bruised her simple, unprepared heart? oh, that brother of mine, and his upbringing!' thus, running back to her old grievance, mistress keziah's face hardened again. then recollecting herself, she presently rose and took the girl to her room.

'i am very sorry, aunt keziah,' faltered marion, as her aunt bid her good-night.

'so am i, if you are going to be poorly, my dear child, but for no other reason. are you sure you will not take a dose of my herb tea?'

marion made a slight grimace. 'i could never abide the idea of physicking. for that matter, i have never been ill, except for childish complaints.'

'just like your father,' commented mistress keziah. 'but,' she added, 'don't be afraid of me. i am not an ogre.'

marion smiled faintly. 'i was terrified of you at garth, aunt keziah.'

'but you have seen a little of the world since then,' drily commented the lady. 'the same kind of fear should never recur. good-night, my dear. sleep well.'

but darkness brought no relief to marion. with morning she was feverish, wild-eyed, more awake than ever. a new horror seized simone when, in response to her mistress's call, she sprang up from a troubled sleep and drew the curtains wide. if the girl could not sleep, she would soon be really ill. and what then?

presently simone took her courage in both hands and, saying nothing to marion, sought mistress keziah. the gaunt face in its frilled nightcap, and the many wrappings by which the lady imagined she warded off rheumatism, made in their way the most awe-inspiring sight simone had yet encountered. but, as marion said, simone never made a mistake. after a few minutes' conversation, mistress keziah pulled the bell-rope at the head of her bed. 'i must get up,' she said.

'if madame will pardon me,' ventured simone, 'mademoiselle is a little strained. this is to my knowledge two full nights that she has not slept. since we left london, in fact, she has slept very little. and—mademoiselle is accustomed to my nearness.'

'and you think i should frighten her?' grimly demanded the old woman. 'well, well. the point is, she must sleep. and sleep well; whatever her trouble may be—'twill not be eased by a fever! you say she lies and stares and plucks at the sheets? i will cure her.'

here the servant entered, and mistress keziah gave minute directions concerning a particular bundle of herbs in the still room. 'brew it thrice the strength, alison,' she concluded.

presently simone came to marion's side with a steaming cup.

'if you care at all for the success of your journey, mademoiselle, you will drink this.'

'i must get up,' said marion wildly. 'do you know yonder courier is now within a day of london? another day, and he will be thinking of return; three more, and he will be here, in exeter. have you thought of it?'

'i have thought of everything, mademoiselle. but you will be tossing in a fever, soon, and the week will go by none the less. drink this.'

with her distracted gaze on simone, marion took the cup and drained it. anxiously the french girl sat by the bed, watching and soothing the restless hands. she dared not think of the result should the potion prove to be ineffectual. but presently the weary, purple eyelids drooped, the strained lines on the pallid face relaxed. marion sank into a heavy, motionless sleep.